


more bright than of the midday sun

by LittleRaven



Category: Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, vague allusions to Phillip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Briar Rose learns more of the value of sleep than her aunts intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	more bright than of the midday sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illumynare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illumynare/gifts).



> The title is a quote from Loreena McKennitt's adaptation of the poem "Dark Night of the Soul" by Saint John of the Cross.

Briar Rose’s gifts came by fairy magic, and this was just as well: fairies can’t teach human virtue, only confer and reward it. Even Maleficent had contributed with her curse, Merriweather thought sometimes. The “loved by all” part. That might be why the whole thing hadn’t fallen apart. Rose was perfect, pink and gold as the name of her birth. She was pliant enough to stay in the forest as told, curls bobbing in acceptance. But a little curious. She paid much attention to her godmothers, and Merriweather was the first to catch on. 

Hiding or not, the sisters couldn’t survive in the wild. Their majesties set up the cabin, arranged for a few provisions from the village; the fairies used their gifts as mildly as they could. Except for Merriweather. Flora soothed the trees into bearing the best fruit, Fauna persuaded the animals not to be a nuisance, even the ants. But weather magic, said Flora, was too obvious and therefore too dangerous. It was not in Merriweather’s job description to act on anger, so she kept the initial display to a red face all day after a bout of sputtering. It was followed only by a little pinching of her face over the years, every time she distracted Rose while her sisters worked and they all slowly learned to clean a home. The most common subject as soon as Rose could care about words was fairy lore. 

“Animals know things with their bodies. People do too, and they can do more about it if they remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Dreams are easiest. If something is in your dream more than once, if it comes to live there, then it’s true. True as your heart.”

“And how true is that?”

“There’s nothing truer,” added Flora, smiling. Fauna sighed, chin in hands, dust blithely staining her face. They were done; Fauna soon clucked her way into getting Rose, happy to tell her what she could of the animals. That was how Rose began singing for them. 

It wasn’t entirely normal. Rose caught the befuddlement when squirrels followed her home. Fauna’s had a tinge of cheer, Merriweather’s indignation at the trail of dirt, and Flora’s the closest thing to sternness she could achieve. “But they’re like people, like Aunt Merriweather said! What’s so strange about them being in the house with us?” 

“Child, how did you even get them in here? Never mind. Fauna, please teach her about the difference in your next lesson,” Flora said, wiped her forehead with one hand. 

Fauna coaxed them out, perhaps listening, perhaps not. Rose watched her intently, smiling. 

“Really? You talk to them too!” 

Fauna looked up for a moment. “Well yes, Rose dear.” She turned back to the animals, hastily pushed the last one’s tail, and shut the door on its chattering. “It’s pretend, it makes it easier.” Her sisters nodded with enthusiasm. 

“Well Rose, go on, clean your room again and get some rest before dinner.” Merriweather shooed her off. “I’ll get your favorite berries,” she added, forgetting how the girl could gather them better. Suddenly more thought was required to raise her. 

Rose didn’t see why they were so flustered. All of them could speak to the forest; there was no reason for her not to do it, least of all for not to have the ability. She kept smiling and turned to her room as she was bade. Only Merriweather seemed to notice. Rose knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but the tone of their voices made it easy to understand. Rose was supposed to be different from her aunts. But they were family, and families shared. She was proud she’d ended up a little like them. 

The day after, they began telling her stories about court. “Do they want me to envy the princesses?” she giggled to her squirrels from her place on a tree root. “I don’t—not when they eat roast things. How could they tell me that,” she frowned, and the squirrels’ eyes were big as they leaned back in horror. “Oh no, not squirrels, I don’t think. Deer and swans. Not that that’s any better.” They still cringed. Bluebirds halfway out of their trees flapped back in. “It’s not as if I could forget you by learning to dance. In fact…”

Rose got up and twirled. “It helps me move a little like you.” Her steps were quick and sure. The animals chirped and chattered in unison. She stopped slowly, hummed, seemed to forget she was there. She sat down again. 

“Maybe I do envy them a little. They always have someone. Oh I know I have you, and my aunts,” she smiled, alert as before. “But they have someone like them, or so my aunts say. Sisters, brothers sometimes. And always a prince, usually right when they’re born—imagine that!” She tapped the tree trunk. “Just like you do.” The animals looked at each other, then back at Rose. They moved, the squirrels to her lap, the birds to her arms. 

“Oh dear,” she sighed, and then laughed. “I don’t need to be a princess, and certainly not one stuck with a prince before she even meets him. A forest girl will do just as well. Better, with you.” She left out the part where she couldn’t imagine getting another someone like that. Except she could. She didn’t know how, but he would be there, and being sure of that was almost as good as if it were true right now. It made it easier to do her chores. 

Later, Merriweather told her she’d known something had changed in Rose. She took her sleep a little too liberally, although they were all quite generous about it—“it gives us time to plan, she’s already fifteen,” she heard aunt Merriweather say. She obeyed faster than ever, and she even paid less attention when Fauna whispered to the ants and Flora to the vines threatening their house. Her dreams grew clearer every night, her smiles more secretive. She knew patience well, from the long slow years kept by the trees and the sun.


End file.
